


Sometimes

by BarPurple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, non curse au, so angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Sometimes trying to change is too little too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maplesyrup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/gifts).



Mr Gold stepped into the cold, dark house and sighed. He didn’t call out, if she’d been here every light would have been on and the thermostat would have been cranked up to tropical.

She’d always liked the house to be warm and inviting. As far as he was concerned she could make a room bright just by walking into it. She was the polar opposite to him.

He slammed his cane into the umbrella stand and limped into the lounge without bothering to turn the lights on. He knew how empty the house was without needing to see it. The unopened whiskey bottle was on the table by his chair, right where he’d left it this morning. Some cynical part of him had prepared for disappointment and was now preening by virtue of being right.

For a long time, he just sat there in the dark trying not to think or feel. It used to be so easy to feel nothing, but that sort of peace was no longer in his grasp. He loosened his tie and opened the whiskey.

“I’m sorry Belle.”

Like a magic spell those words spoken aloud opened the floodgates of emotion, and as usual the painful recollections began with the argument.

“Why did you do it? Can’t you do anything nice for people?”

“I can be nice, sometimes, to certain people.”

He took a shot straight from the bottle, the burn of alcohol hurt less the recollection of disappointment on her face.

“You don’t know how to be nice, you can’t even be nice to yourself.”

It had been the pity in her blue eyes that had caused his temper to snap. He’d not built up an empire and reputation to be pitied by a housekeeper. The whisky sloshed as he tried to remember what he’d yelled at her, the words eluded him, but it didn’t matter the effect was undeniable.

Belle had left.

She didn’t come back the next day, nor the one after that. He prided himself on knowing everything that happened in Storybrooke, but it had taken him ten days to find out that Belle had left town, and he’d only found that out because he’d overheard her friends talking about the postcards she’d sent them. He laughed bitterly as he recalled how he’d hurried home to check his mailbox. It had been empty.

He’d bloodied his knuckles on the damned box. He’d broken more things inside as he’d attempted to patch himself up, but he’d finally admitted to himself that he missed Belle. She was more than just a housekeeper, she was his only friend. That night he’d polished off a bottle of whiskey similar to the one now in his hand, and he’d come up with a plan.

Belle wanted him to be nice to people, if he did that she would come home.

He snorted and kicked his shoes off. The town had been suspicious of the new him; the first time he’d left a decent tip at the diner Granny had chased him down the street insisting that he’d forgotten his change; when he’d charge a tiny interest rate on a loan Leroy had offered to call Doctor Whale. He’d persevered, hoping that word of his good deeds would get back to Belle.

For three months now he’d done his best to be nice to people, to help them. He took another swing of whiskey, the only thing that had changed was that people were no longer suspicious of his actions, instead they were mildly amused. There was a rumour running around town that he was dying or had found God. He’d not let it bother him, he thought it would make Belle laugh went she came home, although she’d probably be disappointed than no one had asked if he’d been visited by three spirits.

That made him laugh since he was sat here clutching a whiskey bottle in the dark. Of course, that lucky bugger Scrooge had been welcomed with open arms after his dramatic transformation from miser to generous soul. No rejections for Scrooge.

His head lolled against the back of the chair, he was so tired. The thought of the stairs was too much for him to deal with, this chair was plenty comfortable, and he wouldn’t have to walk by Belle’s bedroom. Yeah, staying here was a good idea.

He heard a key in the lock. He screwed his eyes shut, too tired for false hope. The light through his closed eyes hurt, but the gentle hand in his hair was good. He’d had this dream before, Belle coming home and being happy, he didn’t want to open his eyes, just wanted to stay here in the space between wake and sleep where he could pretend.

“Oh, Robert, still can’t be nice to yourself, can you?”

He jerked in the chair sending the half bottle of whiskey to the floor. Blinking against the bright sun-light he peered at the vision before him.

“Belle?”

His blurry eyes cleared, and the vision vanished. Belle wouldn’t be here. Yesterday he’d plucked up the courage to ask Ruby for her current address and been sneered at.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

The whiskey glugged from the bottle on to the carpet, filling the empty room with the reek of alcohol. Dust motes danced in the morning light as he dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle grinned as her phone blared out the Facetime jingle. This would be Ruby checking in with her, she loved travelling, but it was nice to know that someone at home still cared about her. She hit the answer button and grinned at the top of Ruby’s head.

“Sorry, dropped it!” - Ruby’s face appeared in shot with a wide smile, - “Got it right, first things first where are you?”

Belle turned the phone around; “This is the thrilling Atlanta Bus Depot.”

She turned the phone back in time to see Ruby rolling her eyes, “Looks sooo exciting. Where are you headed to?”

“Not sure yet, there’s three buses due in the next hour, the one for New Orleans is looking tempting.”

“Ooh the Big Easy, awesome. Want to hear some awesome home news?”

Belle tucked her legs up under her and got comfortable for some juicy gossip; “Shoot.”

The image shuddered as Ruby held up an official looking document. Belle squinted and tried to read it, but the jiggling letters were rendered useless by the low pixel count.

“What is that? Hold the camera still.”

She could hear Ruby muttering as the camera stilled and the words came into focus.

“That’s the … Woah! Did you and Granny win the Lotto?”

The deeds to the diner and inn blurred out of shot and Ruby reappeared shaking her head; “Nope. Gold has sold every property he owns, owned, well y’know, to the tenants, for the princely sum of one dollar.”

Belle bit her lip and blinked. What was he thinking? The power that his property empire gave him was the most important thing to Gold. At least that’s what he’d yelled at her when they’d argued, along with a lot of harsh stuff about love and kindness being weaknesses.

Ruby shrugged; “Look, I know you don’t like talking about Gold, but I’ve got to ask Belles, is he dying?”

Belle’s stomach dropped. They had parted on less than friendly terms, but Gold would always hold a place in her heart.

“What?”

“That’s the only thing that can explain this change in him. I mean since you left he’s been, well, nice.” – Ruby wrinkled her nose, - “He’s still a snarky bastard, but, you won’t believe this, he apologises for saying nasty stuff now. Even gave Ashley his handkerchief when he made her cry and suggested a few ways to stop little Alexandrea from crying, and they were like useful parenting tips, not smothering her with a pillow or anything.”

_“Why can’t you be nice to anyone?”_

She’d asked him that, shouted it at him really. That wouldn’t have changed him, would it? Her brain was certain that he hadn’t changed at all; her heart simply hoped that it was true. Stubborn thing hope; something that flickered so weakly should not be able to colour every single thought. Belle took a deep breath and crossed her fingers that she wasn’t going to regret this.

“Okay Rubes, ban on talking about Gold is lifted. Tell me everything.”

Ruby’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, but she shrugged and started relaying all the gossip about Gold since Belle had left, starting with the cat.

“Okay, you remember the devil cat in the animal shelter? Well, guess who adopted it last week…”

 

-x-x-x-

 

Gold scratched Harold’s head, and smiled at the rusty purr that rattled from the cat sprawled over his lap. He supposed he could have called the one-eyed cat Odin, but that had struck him as a bit pretentious for a moggy. Not that naming him after a king wasn’t pretentious, but most folks in Maine had no idea about the Battle of Hastings so it didn’t matter that much. He certainly wasn’t going to keep any of the names that Harold had collected in the shelter; Hop-A-Long, Crook-Foot, Evil Bastard, Beast. No they cut far to close to home. 

Gold stretched out and tried to flex his ankle without disturbing Harold. No one had wanted the gigantic tabby, he’d become a legend in the shelter, prone to hissing and clawing anyone who got within six foot of him, and yet for Gold he was a soppy bugger. He’d swayed up to the bars of his cage with such confidence that Gold hadn’t noticed that his back left foot was twisted. After an imperious sniff he’d deigned to have his head stroked and Gold had known that this was the moggy he was taking home.

He’d never thought that he would have a pet, but seeing the affection that Nolan received from his dog had somehow planted the idea in his head. He’d wandered around the animal shelter and come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be fair to adopt a dog; there was no way he could give any of the mutts the exercise they deserved, but a cat didn’t need long walks did it?  
Harold certainly didn’t. He was perfectly matched to Gold on the idea of exercise. Although he had got a fascination with chair legs, but Gold had decided that he could live with claw and tooth marks in his furniture simply because Harold made his house feel less empty. 

Gold glanced at his phone. Belle had changed her phone number; he’d discovered that very quickly after she had left, but he still sometimes got the urge to text her. He’d given in to it for a while, until he’d gotten a very confused message from a stranger asking who the hell was Belle and ‘dude, do you need help?’

“Ah Harold. She’d have a right giggle at you. Probably spoil you rotten or put you on a diet.”

Harold snorted and headbutted his hand. 

“Wish you’d got to meet Belle. She’s amazing,” – he shook his head, - “And right. Belle’s right. I am a bastard. Always will be.”

He drew random squiggles in Harold’s fur and sighed. Belle wasn’t coming back. No matter how nice and good he was, she was gone. 

“A brief flicker of light in my very, very dark life.”

He’d been tempted to fall back into old, bad habits, but the vitriol and bile didn’t come as easily these days. He’d got into the habit of being, if not good, then at least amiable. 

“Belle would be proud.”

No. She wouldn’t be. It was far too little, far too late. Nothing could bring Belle back to him, but at least, thanks to her, he wasn’t as much of a beast these days.

“I wish you could meet her Harold.”

Harold arched his back and dug his front claws into Gold’s thigh before jumping to the floor and padding into the kitchen. Gold brushed the fur from his trousers and shifted the pillows behind his head. He really should sleep in his bed tonight, but the stairs were a long way away, and Harold had an aversion to sleeping on his bed. It was much comfier to sleep down here with Harold on his lap.

And down here it was easier to dream of Belle on her adventures.

-x-x-x-

“Rubes, the buses are coming in.”

“Cool! Tell me where you are going once you get there. Take care of yourself Belles.”

She ended the call and stood up. The walk to the ticket window was a short one, and there was a bit of a queue. Her knuckles creaked as she griped the handle of her rucksack. The little woman on the other side of the glass smiled at her; “Have you decided where you are going, sweetheart?”

She hadn’t, but that word did it for her.

“One way to Bangor, please.”

The ticket seller tilted her head and gave her a strange smile as she punched up the ticket.

“Good luck, sweetheart.”

Belle took the ticket from her and opened her mouth to asked what she needed luck for, but the lady in the booth was already waving the next person in line forward. She hefted her backpack onto her shoulder and turned away towards the bus, her fingers unknowingly rubbing over the gold ink on the ticket that would take her home.


End file.
